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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850162">Mirrors On The Ceiling, Pink Champagne on Ice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82'>ranguvar82</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Angel and his Artist [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Mirror Sex, Shameless Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:22:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850162</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale has a surprise for Crowley. A very, very nice surprise</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Angel and his Artist [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mirrors On The Ceiling, Pink Champagne on Ice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yvesriba/gifts">Yvesriba</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wanted to write something for my lovely Yvesriba on their birthday proper, but my muse wasn't listening. So this is a combo VERY belated birthday/Just because they rock present.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mirrors On The Ceiling, Pink Champagne On Ice</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There are many reasons why Crowley loves Aziraphale with every ounce of his soul. The biggest one, is, of course, the way Master treats him, like Crowley is a priceless, beautiful treasure, something to be cherished and loved. Aziraphale is effusive in his praise of the artist, words of love and devotion pouring from his lips in a torrent as he kisses his love all over, his skilled hands both soft and hard at the same time. Crowley can never, will never get enough of his hard and soft Master, of the dark growls and low, gentle words that fill him up as much as Aziraphale’s perfect cock. The combination of both is enough to send him over the edge into an abyss of pleasure that he never wants to climb out of.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale’s imagination knows no bounds, and as Crowley learns what he loves, learns that being hit and bruised and marked up makes him feel loved and cherished and safe, his angel and Master takes full advantage.</p><p> </p><p>There was the night Aziraphale trussed him like a Christmas turkey and lashed him, kissing him everywhere the lash hit before spreading his legs and slamming into him, fucking him hard and slow, letting his pet feel every inch of his cock, his strong and soft hands stroking Crowley everywhere. He had slid a cock ring onto his pet before tying him up, and Crowley was brought to the edge of the cliff over and over, panting, sobbing, and whining. Aziraphale had whispered hot, obscene words of praise in his ear, his voice the deep, dark growl that made Crowley shiver in mindless lust. When the artist came, it was with a screech that shook the very windows in their frames.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley is out shopping for more art supplies when he gets the text asking him to come home. Concerned, he pays for the supplies and heads out to the Bentley. If he breaks a few traffic laws getting home, well, that’s between him and the car.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale is waiting in the living room when Crowley comes in, a devilish smile on his face. Crowley’s heart starts to pound. He knows that look. Master has come up with something new, something exciting. “Hello, darling. Did you have a good shopping trip?”</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes, Master. Got some more clay.’ Crowley signs, coming over and sliding into Aziraphale’s lap. The gallery owner wraps Crowley’s braid in his hand, tugging hard and pulling his pet down into a hungry kiss. Crowley whines and presses closer to his husband and master, sliding his tongue along Aziraphale’s bottom lip. Those perfect lips part, and Crowley slides his tongue inside, sighing as always at the spice taste of his Master. Aziraphale slides his hand up Crowley’s bare leg, scratching the tanned flesh. Said tan comes from Crowley sunbathing nude in the garden, an activity that Aziraphale wholeheartedly approves of. Aziraphale digs his nails into the soft flesh of Crowley’s inner thigh, and the redhead growls in desire.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got a surprise, my love. You know how we’ve been using the spare bedroom to sleep in because I was having some work done in the master?”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley nods. Aziraphale had made sure said work was done while he was out.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like to see what I had done?” Another nod, and Aziraphale stands up. Crowley wraps his legs around Master’s waist and holds on. “Close your eyes, love.” Crowley shuts his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, you can open them.”</p><p>Crowley opens his eyes and gasps. The bedroom has been transformed. One entire wall has been replaced with mirrors, and there’s a mirror on the ceiling. Aziraphale carries him over to the bed and gently places him on it. “Look at yourself, my love. Look at us.” He steps in between Crowley’s legs, stroking his throat. “Think of it, my love. Me fucking you sweet and slow, beating, whipping, and bruising you up, and you watching as I do it. Being rigged up, tied up, and seeing every knot, every bit of pleasure that you show when I use you like the sweet slut you are. Me fucking you until we’re both exhausted, and you watching your reflection in the ceiling. Can you imagine, my love?”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley whines high in his throat and falls back onto the bed, already starting to shed his clothes. Once he’s naked, he assumes a kneeling position, head bowed and body still. Aziraphale snarls and sheds his clothes just as quickly, climbing onto the bed. “Face the mirrors, my sweet slut.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley shifts on the bed and faces the wall of mirrors, and it’s funny. He’s seen himself naked before, obviously, but this is...this is different. It’s incredibly erotic, seeing his reflection with golden eyes blown wide with want, a light sheen of sweat, and his hair seeming to glow. Aziraphale comes up behind him, pressing just close enough so Crowley can feel the muscles beneath the soft exterior. The blond buries one hand in Crowley’s hair, stroking and scratching the scalp. Crowley moans.</p><p> </p><p>“Now. Here’s the rule. You will watch me as I use you for my pleasure. You will not touch yourself, nor will you make any sounds. You will come when I order you, and not one moment before. Am I clear?”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley nods frantically, his cock already harder than it’s ever been. Aziraphale kisses his throat, then bites down hard, and Crowley bites his lip hard to keep from screaming in pleasure. Aziraphale’s teeth scrape a dark bruise onto Crowley’s skin, and his velvet tongue laps up the tiny bits of blood.</p><p> </p><p>The Dominant’s right hand slides down his Submissive’s chest towards the rosy nipples. Aziraphale strokes them, teasing his love with soft, feather light touches before his sharp nails dig into the sensitive nipples, pinching hard. Crowley shivers, tears of pleasure-pain bright in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale’s left hand is still buried in Crowley’s hair, and he begins to undo the braid, kissing each strand as it comes undone, his right hand sliding further down as his sharp nails dig into the tanned flesh with enough pressure to leave red streaks. When Crowley’s hair is finally free of its confines, it flows down past his waist, and Aziraphale buries his face in it, inhales the apple and spice scent of it.</p><p> </p><p>His hand cups Crowley’s cock, scratching the balls enough to feel, but not to hurt. “Look at yourself, my darling slut, my sweet Submissive. Look how fucking gorgeous you are, how you are falling apart from nothing but my hands on you. Look at how well I know you, that I can bring you such exquisite pleasure like this. But tell me, slut, do you want more? Do you want to watch as I fuck you into sweet oblivion?”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley nods, and Aziraphale bites his shoulder. The artist trembles, eyes blown wide and mouth open in a silent scream. “On your elbows, slut. I need to prepare you.” Crowley lowers himself onto his elbows, his ass in the air, and Aziraphale runs his hands along it. “Keep watching yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley turns his face to the mirror and watches as Aziraphale dives in, his hot velvet tongue burying itself deep in the artist. Aziraphale eats him like he’s a gourmet meal, something to be savored, and Crowley is floating, dazed out of his mind with sheer ecstasy. His eyes are glazed, there’s drool on the corner of his mouth, and his mouth is open in a pant. His skin is glistening with sweat. Crowley thinks to himself that he’s never looked better.</p><p> </p><p>But Aziraphale. Oh, Aziraphale. His Master looks like the angel he is named for, blue eyes glowing with dark desire, hair wild(Aziraphale’s started growing his long, and right now it’s just below his shoulders) and undone, his hard and soft angles somehow even more erotic and welcoming.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale sucks one final bruising kiss into Crowley’s hole, then sits up on his haunches and scoots so he’s in front of his pet. “Suck me, slut.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley swallows him down, his eyes fixed on their reflections, and nearly comes from the sight. Aziraphale thrusts into him slowly eyes fixed on the gorgeous man below him. “Such a good boy, my good little slut, my darling.” Crowley shivers, a wide smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale pulls out, and Crowley nearly whines before remembering the rule. Aziraphale pushes him onto his back, and Crowley stares up at the mirror on the ceiling. He’s never seen a more erotic sight than this, his eyes blown wide, his cock leaking and hard, his hair spread out on the silk pillows. Aziraphale scoots forward and places Crowley’s legs on his shoulders before lining his cock up and slamming home. Crowley chokes on air and whines, unable to keep the sound from escaping.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale fucks him hard and slow, whispering hot words of obscene praise into his skin, and Crowley’s eyes never leave the mirror. He watches his face as he comes, riding the waves of pleasure over and over, before collapsing, panting hard and covered in sweat.</p><p> </p><p>“So, did you like my surprise, love?” Aziraphale asks, stroking Crowley’s sweat damp hair. The artist nods. “That’s only part of it. I’ve got some champagne waiting for us in the bathroom. What would you say to a nice long soak, followed by dinner at the Ritz?”</p><p> </p><p>‘Sounds perfect, Master.’</p>
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